Accord

The light is gradually returning, I believe this even though I cannot perceive it. I’m waking up in the dark to start my job after a shower I have to remind myself to take. For a moment, laying there, I look out toward the horizon, the internal one, and see nothing silhouetted against it. This is disappointing.I am alone, which is alright, but the vista is lonesome and, for a moment, I’m sinking. I won’t drown, not because of this. It's just easier to do when there’s something to look forward to. Not that there isn’t, it’s just a failure of imagination on my part and a taking of life for granted with a general lack of gratitude. No need to flog yourself with that knowledge, but you might find yourself better served if you can shift your perspective. 

What you’d like to see there is the object of your desire, a great love, your soul’s salvation. What you should place there instead is a well-made sandwich or a walk under the Winter sun. 

Yours is a problem of scope not of hope, kid. Come back to this day. Come back to the Earth, to this house, to this room, to your body, to your breath, to your heartbeat, to right now. Stay here. And now, live…

The work day unfolded and kept me busy initiating sub-optimal electronic communications with people in crisis parked on stretchers in busy emergency department hallways. Is there help in that? Sometimes I’m not sure. 

Try to connect. Try to listen well. Try to communicate understanding and competence. I know what you need, and we are in the process of getting it for you. Help has arrived. Don’t worry.

I do that for ten hours and, when I’m finished, I’ve developed that strange exhausted feeling in my head. I layed down on my bed and fall asleep instantly. I’m already dreaming. 

It’s like walking into a room where people are engaged in multiple conversations and a television show with a laugh track is playing simultaneously in the background. It was going full tilt before I arrived and will continue on after I’ve left. It’s this whole other world in perpetual frenetic motion that I drop into and wake out of. 

Just before waking this time, I dream of a woman about my age being chatted up by two men. One man is older than me and one man is younger. I am sitting at a piano instead of a table. I decide to be bold and approach. I pull up a chair and, still standing, ask if I may join them. There’s just silence. I can feel the rejection which I’ve already absorbed and taken in stride as I begin to wake. 

Earlier, I’d thought that I might go out for a meal and a beer or two after work, in keeping with the spirit of having something to look forward to. Now, it just seems kind of pointless and like an unnecessary expense. I go to the kitchen and make a meal out of what I find there. Uncle Ben’s Spanish rice, bacon, queso fresco, and kalamata olives. Add a little garlic powder and some adobo, without tasting it, once all the items are mixed together. Frank’s hot sauce. Dill pickle chips on the side. Two slices of Dave’s Killer Epic Everything organic breakfast bread, toasted - one with cream cheese and one with butter. All of it washed down with a cold glass of watermelon juice. Dave’s isn’t a sponsor, but I’ll plug their bread anyway. It’s good. 

The wind has risen. Snow is on its way for the weekend. I’ve got somewhere to be in the morning so I’m hoping it will hold off. Early morning coffee, a car ride, and then some challenging work on my fascia. It’s trapped in my body, woven into my muscle tissue - I got that message very clearly. After completing her assessment, the expert agreed. “The issues are in the tissues.” 

Fifty-seven is a funny age to start working on yourself, I guess. But when else was there time?

No outside contact today. I only left the house to bring out trash and recycling and to check the mailbox. I didn’t spend a dime. I didn’t do any running or walking, and that’s been too common an occurrence since before Christmas. I feel the difference in my body composition. 

I was half-listening to an episode of the podcast I mentioned yesterday while typing this morning. A Costa Rican woman was featured as a guest. I missed her name, but she was one of the principal architects of the World Climate Accords. She comes from a prominent political family in her country and rose in status to become a world leader on addressing climate change. She spoke very matter of factly about being suicidal during the time of the accords while being featured on a world stage. Her issues were deeper and more personal than climate change or the pressures and difficulties of negotiating among competing interests, worldviews and political entities. She credits Buddhism with saving her life. But what impressed me most about it was the openness with which she spoke. A person of real stature speaking directly and honestly, like a real person, about her existential struggle. We need more of that. 

The world beats the shit out of people. People, in turn, swallow that pain, freeze it, store it, bury it, deny it,  dump it on someone weaker, and pass it on to the next generation. Sometimes, all too often, they end it by killing its host. 

Healing is one of those words that gets thrown around so often it’s in danger of becoming meaningless (and of making me gag). That’s true right up until you become desperate enough to need some yourself. Or you witness it happening in someone else and get a little taste. 

What if you can do more than just endure this place? What if you can actually heal? Maybe even thrive.